Chapter Three: Satanic Panic
Pinkerbelle was gone by the time I made it back to the Pond. My head was throbbing as my vision blurred and swam. I gave another futile look around before slumping down in the grass nearby, the ornate knife in my hands weighed heavily on my mind. How would I give it back if I couldn't find her?
"...-dear Castle?" A male voice nearby cut through my thoughts.
"Maybe tomorrow," replied a second man. "We should be getting to the restaurant for our reservations at..."
The voices trailed away as the two men continued walking further from where I was sitting, but I didn't care. Of course, I was so stupid! I had jokingly thought of Pinkerbelle as some kind of Disney Princess before. Maybe she was at Belvedere Castle! With some effort, and no small amount of willpower, I managed to drag myself off the ground and start making my way toward Vista Rock.
The walk over took almost an hour between my sluggish pace and the fact that I got lost not once, but twice! By the time I made it, the outside tour was just wrapping up. I strained to look at every teenage girl in the group, trying to find Pinkerbelle, but had no luck. Ducking inside, I wandered the first floor before making my way upstairs and further in - checking and double checking each room in turn. After two hours of fruitless searching, I was finally forced to admit defeat.
Bone weary and nearing the point of collapse, I forced my way into a closed off room, closing the door behind me and slumping against the wall. A light breeze blew through the open window, further messing up my already messy hair. It occurred to me then that I was not looking properly. I had been searching like a normal person, not a Super Hero - even if stealing something wasn't particularly heroic. But then again, I was a street rat like Aladdin, and he became a prince. I might not have a genie, or unlimited cosmic powers of my own, but I did have something just as useful in this case. I tried to will the world around me to turn black and white, then yawned, slumping further against the wall.
"Maybe I should rest first," I said to myself, slurring the words even as I struggled to pull myself up and failed. With a wary glance at the open window, I sighed and curled up on the floor. "Look at me, sleeping in a castle. Not bad for a street rat, eh?" And with that last amusing thought, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
I jerked awake with a startled gasp. In my dream, the city was burning around me as a flood of monsters waged open war in the streets. There were other people there, as well. People like me. The haze of waking seemed to blur their features, but something inside me ached for them.
GRRRRRRLLLLLL
Or maybe it was just my stomach telling me to eat something. Somehow, I had managed to sleep undisturbed for about five or six hours judging by the quality of the light outside the window. I had apparently used a lot of energy throwing fireballs around while fending off the hellhound, not to mention whatever it was that had turned the world into a black and white T.V. show. had seriously left me drained after it had worn off.
"Of course!" My eyes widened.
I had been going about my search for Pinkerbelle all wrong. I was searching like a normal person for a normal girl, but she wasn't a normal girl. At least, not when the world was black and white. She had stood out, a splash of color in a colorless world. I just had to figure out how to make that happen again - preferably without smacking my head against a wall.
I groaned, holding a hand to my stomach as it growled again. Okay, first order of business; food. Then I can figure out my new super power. I stretched, arching my back like a cat before pulling myself off the floor and frowning at the burn marks where I had been sleeping. My dream must have been real bad for that to happen, but it was already fading from memory.
With a mental shrug, I cracked the door open to make sure the coast was clear before heading out. Finding food in Central Park is easy to do if you don't care about quality. Luckily for me, I had no problems eating directly from the trash. Not that I could afford to be picky. Once I satisfied my appetite with several half eaten hotdogs, I found a quiet spot hidden in the bushes by the pond to sit and think, recalling the advice that had helped me when I was still figuring out my fire powers.
'When meditating, most people's first instinct is to stop thinking. Of course, that doesn't work - you just start thinking about not thinking about anything and then all you can think about is how you're thinking about not thinking about anything. Don't try to focus your thoughts. Instead, let your mind wander. Your subconscious mind will tell you what you already know but haven't yet figured out.'
The advice had come by way of a daughter of Hecate who had had an interesting approach to the mystic arts. She had, with the help of a son of Apollo, written a journal full of useful advice for future generations. I had found the journal abandoned in a warehouse in the Lower East Side, and it had proven to be an invaluable resource.
Of course, reading it had been difficult at first. The letters seemed to dance around on the pages seemingly at random and, even when they remained still, most of the words were misspelled. The son of Apollo had said it was called dyslexia, or something close to it. Basically a demigod's brain was more wired to read Greek letters than Latin. That along with our A.D.H.D. were part and parcel of the demigod package.
Rarely, some children of the gods were even lucky enough to be born with special affinities. Gifts or powers associated with our parents' domain. I was shocked to find that my persistent fever was actually a super power. It had taken a month of meditation to have my first breakthrough, but I was glad to have put in the effort. I just hoped it wouldn't take so long with this new power now that I already used it once. A small part of my mind worried that I might have hallucinated everything in my near state of delirium, but I forced that line of thinking aside. I know what I saw, and that was that!
The snapping of a nearby twig caught my attention. My eyes snapped open to see the world in black and white once more. Yes! I wanted to pump my fist in the air and celebrate. An odd sniffling sound broke through my thoughts, reminding me of what had initially alerted me to potential danger. I glanced around and froze at what I saw.
Standing less than twenty feet away from me was a male figure that glowed reddish-brown - the precise color of dried blood. He had a strangely lumpy head and was hunched over nearly on all fours as if sniffing the ground. I couldn't resist a sharp intake of breath at the intimidating sight in front of me. His head suddenly snapped up and I realized with shock that his head wasn't just oddly shaped - he had horns!
I bit down on my hand to keep from screaming, willing myself to be as small and as still as possible. In my peripheral vision, I noticed my own swirling purple and red orange colors seem to dim slightly as I held my breath. The horned figure sniffed once more before standing up and hobbling away in the direction of the nearby outdoor theater. My heart pounding a drum solo in my chest, I waited a few more minutes with baited breath. When the horned man did not return, I crawled out of my hiding spot and quickly moved in the opposite direction from where I had seen him go. Still, I kept a wary look out for the horned figure. I definitely didn't want to run into him again.
I decided to head back to Gapstow Bridge to restart my search. It was unlikely that I'd find Pinkerbelle there after all this time, but I figured it was still probably the best place to start looking. Looking around as I walked, I noticed more colors slowly coming into view around me. The people around me all still looked like extras in an old black and white T.V. show (except with an updated fashion sense), and most of the trees were the same grey scale as well - though there were more than a few trees and bushes that stood out in vibrant hues of pinks, yellows and greens. A girl's face peered out of one such vibrant green tree, but was gone when I blinked. A gust of wind carrying a pale white mist blew past me, tickling the back of my neck with my hair and I could swear I heard a giggle.
The sun had begun to set by the time I made it back to the bridge, though my vision was unaffected by the difference in light quality. The shadows seemed to deepen with the setting sun, swirling black and purple mist reaching out of them like grasping fingers. A woman walked obliviously right through one such tendril before I could even form a warning, but the strange shadow was simply dispersed like harmless fog. She shivered slightly, frowning a little, but kept walking as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Some voice of instinct in my head warned me that I wouldn't be so lucky if I tried to do the same, so I walked around. As I had suspected, there was no sign of the pink girl, save for some residual color where she had been standing.
"H-hey!" a man shouted out, his voice surprisingly deep.
I turned to see the red, horned man hobbling toward me. I screamed and the world slammed back into living color making me sway on my feet as my head throbbed painfully. Cracking open one eye, I saw that standing in place of the horned figure was a mostly normal looking, albeit very hairy man with a scowl on his face. He was roughly five feet tall, muscular with hairy arms and wearing slacks and an open polo shirt that revealed a patch of hair on his chest as well. Without a second thought, I turned and started running as if the devil himself was on my heels.
I had gone so long without a single monster attack, blending in with the normal people for years, and now I had to deal with two of them back to back! How was that even fair? The horned man was fast, too. Almost deceptively so, given his hunched frame. I pushed myself to move faster, the muscles in my legs burning in protest from last night's over exertion and my head pounding with each step. I briefly contemplated the stolen... er, borrowed knife, but quickly put that thought out of my head as a bad idea. I didn't even know how to use it properly, and would more likely than not just end up hurting myself more than the thing chasing me.
Some people stopped to stare as I ran past them. It must have seemed odd to witness a small child being chased by a short adult man shouting wordlessly after her. One couple even seemed unsure if they should involve the authorities in the matter. Most, though, just carried on like this was a normal evening. Or they joined in the shouting as I passed too close. You really could tell who was a tourist and who wasn't. I bolted out of the park through the same gate that I had entered earlier this morning, almost getting bowled over by an oncoming vehicle.
"Hey watch it, dickhole, I'm walkin' here!" I shouted, flipping them off when they honked at me. Seriously, who the hell drives in New York? A glance back toward the park gates showed that I had managed to give the horned man the slip. At least for the time being. I sighed, trying to will away the migraine that was now threatening to split my head open. After a few moments of trying to will my vision to change again, which only resulted in my headache growing worse, I gave up.
At least I knew it wasn't a hallucination now. I really had made the world change colors, at least from my perspective. If I could do it on command... then what? Obviously my main goal was to track down Pinkerbelle and return her knife. But what about afterward? My head throbbed with the effort of self reflection, which I took as a clear sign to knock it off. It was already getting late anyway, and I hadn't really eaten anything all day except for a few leftover hotdogs from the trash. I checked my pocket and sighed. Counting the dirt and lint, I had about thirty seven cents.
Normally I would have a takeout box from uncle Joe's to see me through the next day or two, but of course I had run off before my shift had properly ended. Would he be mad at me? Would I even be welcome to come back? I'd just have to wait until next week and see. Maybe I could think of a good way to apologize by then. Of course, thoughts of uncle Joe's inevitably led to thoughts of Herman and his sister. Artie.
I blushed, grateful for the fact that nobody really paid attention to anyone else walking on the streets in Manhattan. The pretty dark haired girl stirred feelings in the bottom of my stomach that I didn't completely understand. I mean, okay, don't get me wrong; 'Girl pretty', I get it. I have never seen the inside of a closet, metaphorical or otherwise. Normally, though, I can function at least halfway like a human being. There was just something about that girl that had completely knocked me through a loop. And then I immediately went and made a complete ass of myself by tripping over my own shadow and dumping a plate of food all over her head. Maybe I'd get lucky and never see her again. Did I even want that?
My migraine pulsed as my stomach growled, causing me to stumble slightly as I doubled over. I waited a few seconds for the wave of vertigo and nausea to pass before continuing on. It was a long walk back to the Lower East Side, and I was beyond grateful to see the abandoned shop I called home standing just as I had left it. I didn't bother to sneak or otherwise conceal myself as I walked right up to the boarded up building and opened the front door. The normal people never seemed to notice me coming or going.
I flicked the lightswitch next to the door, bathing the interior in the dim, flickering light of a bare ceiling mounted bulb. The paper on the walls was peeling in some places, with suspicious dark stains like mold in the corners near the ceiling. The carpet, which might have been blue at some point, was threadbare in some places and matted in others. The only furniture consisted of a couch that had just one cushion (which seemed to come from an entirely different couch) and exposed springs poking through the back, a dirty mattress shoved into a corner, a heavily mildewed bookshelf and a wood burning stove without a pipe.
With some small effort, I conjured some fire in the stove. The sigils etched into it causing the smoke to vanish almost instantly. Checking the shelf, I grabbed a warm pack of hotdogs that I had bought for emergency use the week before. Giving a cursory sniff, I shrugged at the slightly sour smell and wiped the excess moisture off with my shirt before tossing the contents of the whole pack into the stove. Collapsing on the couch, and shifting slightly as a spring poked me in the back, I closed my eyes.
I was home. I had food. Life was good.